CreepyAss Orchard of Death
by DarthGabithaTheHutt
Summary: When John and his partner go missing on a hunt, Dean enlists help to ensure their safe return. Preseries, no pairings. Completed 2nd Sept. Continued in the Louisiana. And further...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, the Winchesters, or anything you recognise. Anything you don't might be mine.

Summary: When John and his partner go missing on a hunt, nineteen year old Dean enlists the help of another young hunter to get them back safely.

Comments are hugely appreciated – indulge me?

_xxx_

_July 1998, _

_Grant County, Wisconsin _

Dean was sulking.

Not very obviously, admittedly. At nineteen he was too old to be acting liking a petulant child, but John knew his son well. The lack of sarcastic comments and his trademark smirk were easy signs that Dean was not happy. And John had a pretty good idea why - there were only two people in the car, rather than the normal three. But pulling fifteen year old Sammy out of school to go kill a demon on the other side of America just wasn't an option. Dean knew that. He just wasn't happy about it. As much as he might like Caleb, Dean didn't really trust anyone but himself to watch out for Sammy properly. But with high school now firmly behind him, he had no excuse not to go with his Dad and embrace the family business. So the last few hours of solid driving had been almost completely silent, with the few attempts at conversation from John being firmly slapped down by an irritated Dean.

With his ears plugged into his walkman, Dean stared out of the window, eyeing the road signs as they flashed past. He counted down the miles to the latest pathetic town they were visiting, trying to keep his mind off whatever trouble Sammy was just bound to get himself into. Well, at least he wouldn't have to listen to his moaning for a while. That was worth something. Dean really didn't understand Sam's aversion to this life. He hated it when the family had to be split up, but not much else about the whole situation bothered him.

He frowned as a motel shot past on one side. "Dad, aren't we stopping?"

"We're staying with a friend in town," John answered. "It's not much further."

Satisfied, Dean lapsed back into silence. Provided he could get out of this car soon, he didn't much care. The house they eventually pulled up outside of looked no different to any of the others lining the street, but Dean was getting the weirdest feeling of deja vu as he stepped out of the car and fetched his bag.

"Who's the friend?" he asked.

"Amelia Lucian," John replied. "Let's go."

Lucian, Lucian... Where had he heard that name before? "Whoa, the exorcist?" Dean said, following his dad up a few steps to the front door. "Why would she need our help?"

"She called me, Dean, said it was important. And Amelia doesn't ask for help lightly."

"So it's something big?" Dean asked. Maybe it wasn't so bad for Sammy to sit this one out after all.

John hadn't even begun to answer where the door was yanked open, revealing a woman who looked more like a teacher than an exorcist. Through glasses, which were actually on a gold chain, Dean noticed, she peered at the two men.

"Took your own sweet time, didn't you?" she said with a strong English accent, but the smile on her face took any edge off the words. "Where's the third musketeer?"

"We left Sammy behind, Amelia. School," John explained.

"Brought the other one, though. You don't expect him to be able to help, do you? No offence, sweetie," she added quickly before Dean could protest.

"Can we argue about that inside, maybe?" John asked, trying not to smile at the look on his son's face.

"Oh, of course," Amelia said. "Kitchen's through there, rooms for you both upstairs, keep the brat out of the attic."

"What's up there?" Dean asked, letting 'brat' go for now.

"Some very delicate and sensitive equipment," Amelia answered. "So it's a no-no for anyone but me. Besides, Bernie wouldn't like you poking around."

"You still haven't got rid of that idiot?" John asked.

Amelia shrugged. "He's been in the house for a hundred years, John. He just won't go. He keeps the rats down anyway."

"Most people would just get a cat."

"Well, I'm not 'most people', am I?" she retorted. "So, business now or in the morning?"

"Better do it now. Dean, why don't you get some sleep?" John said. "I'll fill you in tomorrow."

Adolescent pride be damned. Sleep sounded so good right now. "Yeah, cool. Goodnight."

As he drudged up the stairs with his bag in one hand, Dean could hear the two adults going into the kitchen, talking too quietly for him to be able to hear anything specific. It seemed that it took more than legally being an adult to stop people treating you like a child. Well, at least the house made a nice difference from some cheap motel room.

The first door he tried in his search for somewhere to crash only led to another staircase, which he guessed led to the forbidden attic. The next door opened to reveal a bedroom, but it definitely wasn't a spare room. Posters and photos littered the walls, there were shelves of books and ornaments and even a cuddly toy on the bed. It was all slightly dusty, though, and the room smelt musky.

"Not quite the room I had in mind," Amelia said from behind him. Dean spun, an apology already lined up and ready to go, but she was smiling at him. "Try the next one."

She followed him as he did so, finding at last a room he could sleep in. "I owe you an apology, kid."

"What for?" he asked. If she called him 'kid' one more time, he was going to scream.

"I should have been clearer when I contacted your father. There was no need for you to come."

"I can help," he said.

"Believe me, I know," she said, and somehow she managed to stop the words sounding even the slightest bit patronising. "But the work I do is very... delicate. Too many people disrupt it, so when your father and I go to deal with my little problem, I'm afraid you can't come. I just thought you should know that from the start."

"So what am I meant to do here?"

"Kid, you are too old for your own good!" Amelia said, rolling her eyes. "You're only nineteen, you should be footloose and fancy free." Seeing the look on his face, she sighed. "It'll just be for a few days, then you can get back to killing evil things. Goodnight, kid."

"My name's Dean," he called as she shut door. Through the wood, he could hear her chuckling.

"Oh, I know that, kid."

Dean gave up, kicked off his shoes and clothes and fell into bed. This was going to be hell.

xxx

The next day, for the first time in ages, Dean slept late. He could generally manage to cope on as little sleep as possible, but if he wasn't going to be hunting, he saw no point in getting up at the crack of dawn. If he was needed, he reasoned, someone would yell at him. In the end, it wasn't until his stomach started complaining that he got up at all.

He padded downstairs in bare feet and jeans in search of food. Usually breakfast consisted of whatever the local cheap café could offer a starving teenager with only a few bucks. Hopefully, the kitchen of an exorcist would be an improvement. Dean searched through cupboards in search of coffee. Coffee was very important first thing in the morning. Gulping it down, Dean finally noticed the note on the table.

_Kid –_

_There's food somewhere. Enjoy. Stay out of the attic and don't break anything. We'll be back later._

_Amelia._

Dean balled the note up and tossed it in the bin. He might enjoy the occasional lie-in, but he hadn't missed a hunt since that nasty one just before he graduated a year ago. What the hell was he meant to do around here all day? He still had no idea by the time he had managed to find some cereal. Steadily munching his way through the bowl, Dean gave in to nosiness and started to wander through the house. The kitchen and hall were depressingly normal, but there was a cupboard full of weapons under the stairs and some occult books in the study that Pastor Jim would love to get his hands on.

Dumping the now empty bowl back in the kitchen, Dean headed upstairs. Remembering the various threats regarding the attic, he avoided that particular door and instead re-entered the one Amelia had caught him in the night before. The room smelt... empty, like no one had been in there for a while. The posters and photos on the wall all looked old as well, and the room was so uncluttered compared to the rest of the house, like everything important had been stored away or taken.

As he left the room and closed the door behind him, Dean distinctly heard the front door open. His instinct was to run downstairs, so instead he went silently to his room and found the curved blade Sammy had given his for his eighteenth birthday. It looked so cool and was nice and deadly; the perfect combination in Dean's eyes. He could hear some thuds from downstairs as he made his way slowly down the stairs.

A girl, maybe a couple of years younger than him, was standing by two suitcases with a small wooden trunk in her arms. "Hey, Mum, I managed to get an earlier flight, so..." She trailed off as she took in the sight of a shirtless Dean standing on the stairs. "You're not her."

"Uh, no."

She grinned. "Not that I'm complaining. Nicer homecoming than I normally get. So, you would be?"

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Take it that means Mr Winchester's back in town? God, what are they doing this time?" the girl said, dumping the trunk on the floor. She had the same English accent as Amelia, not to mention the same wicked glint in her eyes, although she was lacking the gold chain and glasses. The red hair must surely come from her father though; Amelia was a brunette.

"No idea. They didn't tell me. Amelia said something about me disrupting something or other." His tone attempted to convince her that this was not the case.

"You do realise you're standing there with a seriously evil looking knife, don't you?" she said, completely unconvinced, heading into the kitchen.

Dean followed to find her checking cupboards. "So you're Amelia's kid?" he asked, putting the knife down on the table.

"Yeah. Sara Lucian at your service."

"How come you weren't here already?"

"Mum sends me to school in England. Does she eat anything? There's no decent food here," Sara complained, shutting the fridge.

"There's cereal," Dean offered. "Some bread that isn't furry, as far as I could see."

"I knew I should've grabbed something on the way home. So why are you here?"

"Your mom called my Dad, wanted some help, failed to mention that I wouldn't be allowed to do anything and here I am."

"So, three ugly scars, bruised ribs, familiarity with pointy weaponry and an annoyance with not being allowed to kill anything," Sara said. "Yep, you're a Hunter all right."

"Hang on," Dean said. "My little brother's still in school. What are you doing here?"

"Term ends pretty early, I guess, but on the flip side, we have lessons till six and on Saturday morning. Do you even know what they were hunting?" she asked, easily leaping between education and killing things.

Dean shook his head. "Like I said, they didn't tell me anything."

"Yeah, Mum loves to do that. What's she calling you, by the way? 'Cause it sure as hell isn't 'Dean'."

"'Kid' normally."

"Figures. Be glad she isn't calling you sweetheart. That's another favourite."

"You're kidding." Dean followed her as Sara went back into the hall and started to lug her stuff upstairs. He grabbed the small trunk and followed.

"Not at all," she said. "My mother knows no limits."

Dean wasn't very surprised when she kicked the door to the empty room open. She dumped her bags on the bed and went to open the window.

"So if your brother's still in class, why aren't you?" Sara asked, taking the trunk out of his hands and putting it on the desk.

"I graduated last summer."

"Kudos. Do you know when she's turning up?"

"All I know is 'later'. Well, I'll get out of your way," he said, backing towards the door.

"Hey, you're not a vegetarian or allergic or anything, are you?" she asked. "I'll go get some decent food when I've unpacked and everything."

"I'll eat anything."

"Cool," Sara said, shutting the door behind him.

Well, that just put the icing on the proverbial cake, didn't it? Weeks of exams were finally over and Sara had been so glad to be coming home, just to relax for a while. But no. Her mum had to be working. And working with someone. Which meant strangers in her home, research, arguments and a complete lack of anything resembling normality. The flight had been hell and she didn't need this. Not now. Well, as least Dean seemed ok. But then again, people were always good at seeming.

After all, Sara seemed happy and normal.

xxx

A few hours, Dean came back downstairs from a phone call with Sammy. Sara was in the kitchen, unloading bags full of food.

"Got enough?" he asked, heading for the kettle again.

"I do have to feed your ass as well, you know," Sara retorted easily. "Unless you plan to live on pure caffeine." She tossed him a new tin of coffee. "Although that plan does have some elegance."

Dean shrugged. "It's worked before."

"The crash-and-burn part when it wears off isn't so fun though."

"You've done it?" he asked, disbelieving.

Sara shook her head. "My friend ate instant coffee so she'd stay awake in her physics exam. She nearly vibrated into another dimension, I swear, and then she gets out of the two hour long exam and sleeps for eighteen hours. It was insane," she said, smiling at the memory.

"What do you tell your friends, about your mom and stuff?"

"Not much."

"Don't they find that weird?"

"Maybe a bit. What do you say to your friends?"

"Never an issue."

"Hm. An antisocial, caffeine driven, adolescent Hunter is loitering in my kitchen. This is bound to end well, isn't it?"

"Pretty much," he said, grinning.

"How long have you been hunting anyway?"

"Dad kinda raised me in this world, you know, but I really started helping him when I fifteen, sixteen."

"So, what, three years of hunting and suddenly you're too young again? That must be annoying."

"One way of putting it."

Silence ruled supreme after that, with Dean enjoying his coffee as Sara finished putting the shopping away. Things were starting to get really uncomfortable when they both heard the front door slam open and shut. Dean was out of the kitchen in an instant, Sara right on his heels.

Amelia and John were standing in the hall yelling at each other.

John looked incredibly annoyed. "If the idiot can't tell us-"

"Peter Atwood is the best you can find for a thousand miles!" Amelia snapped back. "This type of work takes time, John, we can't just burst in and start shooting!"

"You said it was important!"

"I showed you the omens, you know how big this could be! If you don't want to be here, fine, get back in your stupid car and-"

"Hey, Mum," Sara said loudly.

Both adults stopped yelling instantly, turning to face the two teenagers.

"Sara," Amelia said, with a smile that was only slightly forced. "I didn't know you were coming home so soon."

"I did try to call," Sara replied. "Hi, Mr Winchester."

"Sara," he replied. "Dean, you stayed out of trouble, right?"

"Yes, sir. How'd the hunt go?"

"It's gonna take some time," John said. "You check in with Sammy?"

"He's fine, sir."

Amelia gave John another look and stalked into the study as he went upstairs, leaving the kids standing aimlessly in the hall.

"So," Sara said finally. "Looks like we'll be stuck with each other for a while."

xxx

The next morning, Sara waited until she heard her mother and Mr Winchester leave before getting up. When she finally entered the kitchen at the ungodly hour of quarter to seven, her mother was long gone and that suited Sara just fine. Glancing out of the window, she spotted Dean in the back garden; it looked like he was training. When he came in ten minutes later, Sara was expertly frying bacon.

"There's coffee," she said without looking at him, waving one hand towards the table. "Bacon sandwich coming up."

"Thanks," Dean said, picking up the steaming mug and sitting down.

Sara slapped the sandwich together in record time, passed it to Dean and started work on her own.

"Your father left a load of names that he wants checked," she said. "You know, the usual MIA, freaky deaths collection. And some dates as well."

Dean nodded, his mouth full.

"Do you want to do it or should I?"

"Both of us," he said. "It'd be quicker."

"True, but I'm working this morning. I could meet you at lunchtime, though."

"Working? You've been home for less than a day; how could you have a job?"

"Standing arrangement with the local oddballs," Sara said, finishing her breakfast. She fixed her gaze at a point behind Dean. "Bernie, put it down."

Dean twisted his head to see a kitchen knife floating behind him. "What the hell!"

"It's just Bernie," Sara said calmly. "Come on, Dean's not that bad."

The knife wavered slightly but the invisible Bernie wasn't convinced.

"Well, tough," she continued. "He's our guest and you cannot stab him in the neck. It's too messy. So put the knife down and go back to the attic, Bernie, please."

Reluctantly, the knife dropped into a drawer, which slammed shut.

"Thank you," Sara said to thin air before turning her attention back to Dean. "Sorry about that. Bernie's a little overprotective."

"Overprotective?" Dean repeated. "He was going to stab me!"

"He was just checking I was ok with you," she argued. "Believe me, if Bernie had wanted to kill you, he wouldn't have let me see the knife."

"You set a _ghost_ on me?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Sara replied. "It's difficult for him to communicate without being a little drastic."

"A knife by my head is just a little drastic?"

"Well, it's not like you ever use the damn thing," she said, and had just long enough to look completely horrified before Dean cracked up.

"Nice to see you're not entirely repressed," he said, still chuckling.

She rolled her eyes expressively. "I'll see you later."

xxx

With Sara gone, Dean had tried to relax, but the knowledge that Bernie the ghost was ready, willing and apparently able to stab him had made Dean extremely twitchy. After about an hour of feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise, he gave in and left, being careful not to slam the front door.

For the next few hours, Dean mooched around the town, bored out of his skull. Nothing to do, no Sammy to annoy and the few people of his age that were around took one look at his ripped jeans and scuffed boots and stared at him like he was an overgrown sewer rat. He wondered if it was just him, or if they treated everyone that way. It was probably everyone; the kids looked to be that sort of snooty. The town itself seemed nice enough. Nice, safe, dull. Just another little non-entity of a town with absolutely nothing for him to do, either. Great.

Sara had just said 'lunchtime', which was one of the vaguest times in existence, so Dean waited until half past twelve to head for the centre of town. There couldn't be that many shops that fell into the 'local oddballs' category. As it was, there was only one, and Dean spotted it instantly, a little run down second-hand bookstore called _Cooper's_.

Pushing the door open, Dean peered into the shop. It wasn't as dusty and gloomy as some he'd been in, but it was as disorganised as it could possibly be. The type of shop that you need a map to navigate.

"Hello?" he called.

There was no reply, so he went further in between shelves of books. Most was fairly standard, tatty paperbacks and battered hardbacks, but his eyes widened as he got closer to the back of the shop. _Faust's Compendium, Demones and Deviles_. The sheer number of e's in some of the titles told him just how old the books were. No wonder Sara liked it here.

"Greetings," said a soft voice.

Dean looked forward, finally seeing the counter. An old man was leaning on it, grinning wickedly.

"Hi," Dean said. "I'm looking for-"

"The secrets of the world, yes? Answers to the unexplained mysteries of the world?" the man supplied eagerly.

"Pops, you're wasting your time," Sara said from a door behind the counter. "He's a Hunter, not a tourist."

"Oh, sorry about the act," Pops said, voice normal now. "Business requires it sometimes."

"Sure."

"Dean, this is Mr Cooper," Sara offered. "Pops, Dean Winchester."

"As in John Winchester?" Pops asked.

"He's my dad," Dean said.

"Good man. Good Hunter," Pops said, smiling.

The door jangled open and in came a young couple, all floaty clothes and homemade jewellery.

"Now those you can fool," Sara told the old man. "Hey, Dean, get back here."

Dean followed her into the back room and shut the door just as Pops launched back into his performance. Sara shrugged at his look.

"It helps pay the bills," she said.

"It's so..."

"You should hear some of the customers. They're just scary."

There was a small desk in one corner of the room, which Sara crossed to. She quickly stacked books into rough piles and picked up a small leather-bound notebook.

"Now we just need to get out of here before-"

"Sara Lucian, who the hell is that?"

"Before Nana sees you," Sara finished quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean smiled at the old woman who had appeared from another room.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," he said. "I'm Dean-"

"Sara?" Nana demanded.

"He's John Winchester's boy," Sara said.

"Hunting already, I suppose?"

"Yes, Nana."

Dean should really be telling Nana this. He knew that. He just really didn't want her to pay him any more attention, not when she was starting to smile like that.

"Well then, I'll have to tell Rupert you're spoken for, won't I?" Nana said, hands on her hips.

Sara didn't just blush; she went completely scarlet to the roots of her equally red hair. "Nana," she stammered.

"A nice young man taking you out for lunch? What am I supposed to think?" Nana continued. "And you," she turned to Dean. "What are your intentions?"

It shouldn't have been possible, but Sara blushed even more as Dean managed a few vowel sounds.

"We're leaving right now," Sara said, grabbing his arm and dragging him back through the shop, past Pops, who was laughing his head off and out into the street again.

"I am so, so sorry," she apologised as the door thudded shut behind them.

"You know," Dean said. "Normally I don't have that conversation until a little later in the relationship."

"This relationship isn't going any further!"

"Yep, that's kinda the point. Who the hell was she?"

"That was Nana Cooper, terror of most adolescent boys. No, actually, all adolescent boys."

"And Rupert would be?"

"Her nephew. She's been trying to set us up for quite a while."

"Is that so bad?"

"Well, not really, but the best thing you can say about Rupert is that he has a great personality."

"Ouch."

She shrugged. "It's true. Come on, I'm starving."

"Do I really have to buy you lunch?" Dean asked, following her along the street.

"No, I don't accept meals from pyromaniacs."

"What?"

"Come on, Dean. A Hunter's first reaction to any problem? Burn it. It's very unhealthy."

"I am not a pyromaniac!"

"A dollar says you own more than two cigarette lighters."

"Doesn't mean anything."

"How many boxes of matches?"

"A few."

"See? Firebug. You're the sort of guy who'd cook salad."

"No, I would never have salad."

"Also true."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, Dean marvelling at the sheer absurdity of the conversation and Sara trying to decide where they would get a decent lunch. Her few normal haunts seemed to be full of the arrogant idiots that made up most of the local teenagers. And, just to round off her morning nicely, one of her least favourite idiots was loitering outside her favourite diner with a group of friends. Self preservation and hunger battled, with hunger winning. She headed for the diner, Dean following, and managed to make it past the small gang to the door. Then, of course, came the just-too-quiet-to-be-heard comment followed by the all-too-easy-to-hear laughter. And, just like always, Sara couldn't control the blush of embarrassment, which just made them laugh all the more. Typical.

At least Dean had the good sense not to comment, and for that she liked him. When they had found seats and ordered, he leant back in his chair and looked out of the window at the group of laughing teenagers.

"So," he said. "Was that about you or me?"

"Me, mostly. Scott's an idiot, but there's no way in hell he'd try to antagonise someone like you. You'd massacre him," she said, managing to keep her tone light.

"Want me to anyway?"

Sara laughed. "Too messy."

"I could do it neatly."

"No, you couldn't," she countered as their meal arrived.

"True," Dean agreed, pleased to see her happy. "But I am very good at not being caught," he added through a mouthful of chips.

"I'm awful at that. Every single fight, I got nailed for."

"You started fights?" he asked.

Sara shook her head. "I just hit back when it was necessary."

"Was?" Dean echoed. His last fistfight had been last week, taking care of two boys who thought Sammy was an easy target.

"I go to a boarding school for girls, Dean. Brawls aren't exactly common. Bitching, now that's another matter. When I first went there, I just could not believe how much everyone gossiped about each other. Way scarier than anything you fight, mate."

"How old were you when your mom sent you to England?"

"I was born in England. Mum came out here to work when I was a kid," Sara said. "There's a higher freak factor in the USA."

"Don't you miss your mom?"

"Course I do, but," Sara shrugged vaguely, picking at her food. "What can I do? She doesn't want me here, I have to say that I hate most of the people in this town, so it works pretty well."

"The company does seem to be a little lacking," Dean said, looking out of the window at Scott again. He'd already decided to deal with that arrogant teenager at some point, preferably when Sara wasn't looking.

"You know how it is, Dean. Kids like this, grew up together, they don't particularly like outsiders. And they know freaks when they see them."

Sara was right; Dean did know exactly what she meant. He'd been the new kid, the odd one, the freak, as Sara put it, enough times. And although Dean was now out of the hell-hole of high school, Sammy was still very much there. And Sammy wasn't a freak, not like Dean was. He didn't start fights, or mouth off to the wrong people. Sammy was smart, liked, he got on with people. But there was still always someone who would label him a freak. Well, at least Dean had had time to break the right noses before having to leave Sammy alone in the town.

"But you're not really a freak, are you?" he asked.

"Not for lack of trying. The word for people like me is 'eccentric'. I always though 'freak'had more of a ring to it, personally."

"You are very odd."

"Yep," Sara replied happily. "It's more fun than being normal."

Dean grinned at her. He understood that mentality as well.

"And we should probably get out of here now."

Dean twisted in his seat to see what Sara was referring to and groaned.

"Is he going to cause more trouble?" he asked, looking at Scott.

"Yeah, so let's leave already. I really don't want to be banned from this place, okay?" Sara said, grabbing her bag from under the table.

"Hate to mention it, but he's kinda by the door," Dean muttered.

"Back way, idiot. You think I don't know what I'm doing?"

And it was very clear that Sara did know what she was doing. She even managed to settle the bill somehow between the table and the back door, which Dean was more than a little impressed by. When they were outside, Sara led the way to the library, which was luckily a decent enough size.

"They keep archives and stuff in the basement. Reliable and frequently updated," she explained as they walked through the door. "One of the reasons Mum chose to live here. Damn it, I know it's in here somewhere." She scrabbled through her bag until she came up with a small, laminated card.

"What's that?"

"Student ID. We're here researching local history after all, aren't we?" Sara said with a grin.

Dean matched her smile and pulled out his own wallet. Every single credit card slot contained a different fake ID. Holding up one that declared him to be Aaron Samuels of UCLA, he waved it at Sara.

"Dude, LA is on the other side of the country," she said.

"So? I'm a very dedicated student."

"Oh, please," Sara muttered and then fixed a friendly smile on her face to sweet-talk the librarian into letting them into the basement. With Dean standing in front of her, the young librarian was only too happy to oblige.

"That is so unfair," Sara said as the librarian led them to the basement steps. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to get in here normally?"

Dean just grinned. Sometimes it was good to be him.

The basement was everything it promised to be: dark, full of thick files and with a slightly strange smell. Why couldn't archives ever be in sunny, thoroughly-cleaned rooms? Was that really too much to ask?

"'Kay, so we have names," Sara said when the librarian had finally gone. "Plus instructions to find out anything odd that has happened in the entire county for the last year. Is your dad always this precise?"

"Pretty much," Dean said. "We're going to need some serious caffeine, aren't we?"

"Machine's back upstairs," Sara said. "I'll get started on the names. Grab me some tea?"

"Sure," Dean said and left her in the basement. The drinks machine was easy to find and he spent a few pleasant minute flirting with the pretty librarian as the ancient machine complained and groaned before supplying him with what was allegedly a cup of coffee. From the taste, it was closer to lighter fluid.

Balancing the two disposable cups, Dean headed back to the basement steps. Getting the door open again with both hands full was slightly tricky, but he managed it. He had left Sara in a room at the end of the basement corridor and that door was still open a crack.

"I swear you get more pathetic every time I see you."

Dean froze. No way in hell was that Sara's voice.

"Look who's talking," came a retort, and that was definitely Sara speaking. "Nineteen years old and you've got nothing better to do than annoy me. Well, at least you had the guts to come alone this time."

Dean was already moving when he heard the clear sound of a slap and he was through the door a second after the blow. Dropping the cups and ignoring the warm liquid that swept across the floor, Dean grabbed the offending intruder and slammed him against the wall. He wasn't at all surprised to see it was Scott, who looked astounded at being stopped.

Without looking at Sara, Dean dragged Scott out of the room and up the stairs. Scott was large, but he wasn't a match for an irritated Hunter and there was very little he could do about what Dean was doing. Dean ignored Scott's failing limbs and bundled him out of the library's back door. Bingo: one convenient alleyway for a thorough beating. He shoved Scott up against the far wall.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Scott demanded.

"Could ask you the same thing," Dean replied. "Slapping little girls? Don't get much lower than that."

"Why do you care about that freak?"

"Oh, I just really don't like you. So leave Sara alone, got it?"

Dean gave him ten seconds to agree and, when Scott just smirked at him, let lose with a punch to the jaw. Scott went down like a log and Dean could tell from experience that his jaw was almost certainly broken. Feeling slightly better about the whole situation, Dean went back into the library, carefully avoiding the flirting librarian, and headed down into the basement once again.

Sara was sitting at one of the desks with a pile of files in front of her. Dean could see the red mark on her cheekbone as he sat down opposite her.

"You ok?" he asked.

"Is he?" Sara replied, not looking up.

"Broke his jaw, that's all."

"Pity." There was a long pause before she spoke again. "I didn't mean for you to get involved."

"I was looking for an excuse to hit him," Dean said with a shrug. "Would've preferred it not to involve you and your cheek, but I'll take what I can get."

"Hitting him doesn't work, you know."

"I did break his jaw."

"I broke his finger once."

"You did _what_?"

"I was hitting back," she protested. "Seriously, Dean, I don't go looking for confrontations with him, but no way in hell do I not hit back. I'm pathetic, but not that pathetic. So stop giving me the damsel-in-distress treatment, ok?"

"Ok," Dean agreed. "So, what do we have?"

"Names, dates, locations, none apparently connected. Well, 'cept for the fact that all the people are completely MIA. Or KIA, more likely."

"How many?"

"We've got twenty-three names, but I'm prepared to bet there are more no one's spotted yet."

Dean looked at the impressive stack of papers they had to go through and sighed. This was where Sammy would be so useful to have around. The youngest Winchester, too young to do anything else, had already proven himself to be the undisputed King of Research, teasing out facts that completely eluded his brother and father. Sitting down, he grabbed the first file. This was going to take a while.

xxx

Four hours later, they were at least making some progress. Sara now had a list of odd occurrences as long as her arm and Dean had turned up another dozen names that fit the profile of the previous twenty-seven. They were all young, between eighteen and twenty-two, all had been travelling alone, and all of them weren't missed for long enough to make pinpointing exactly when they disappeared impossible.

"So whatever this thing is, it goes after people with no one to look for them?" Sara said when Dean pointed it out. "Seems more stalker-ish than supernatural."

"How so?"

"Unless this thing can read minds, how the hell could it always get people who won't be searched for immediately? Once or twice, yeah, but not thirty times, surely."

"There are some psychic demons," Dean said thoughtfully.

"There are also plenty of human psychos out there. However, to support your theory," Sara passed Dean a map. She'd dotted certain areas in red and if you kinda squinted at them, you could see it was an outline of some kind. "These are all the reports of freaky happenings that match your dad's list."

"A border?" Dean asked, looking at it.

She nodded. "Any chance your missing people were near there?"

"It's possible. Most of them were travelling when they disappeared."

"And that area is almost uninhabited."

"Why?"

"Beats me. A load of people moved out of there last year, no reason why. They just did." Sara rubbed her eyes. "And I need a break."

Dean smiled, intending to tease her about lack of stamina, when he realised just how stiff his back was. "Well, we have something to show the parentals. Let's call it a day."

"Oh, thank you, God."

"Call me Dean," he replied instantly.

"So funny I nearly laughed. I'm off, my little pyromaniac."

"Little?" Dean repeated. Okay, so he wasn't the tallest guy around but Sara was about a foot shorter than he was.

Sara shrugged, neatly replacing folders and gathering up their notes. "The diminutive shows affection. Or I could call you Deanie, if you prefer."

That wasn't even worth a reply, so he just glared at her, making her chuckle.

"Catch you later, Deanie boy," she called, heading out.

"Hey, what do I tell your mom?" he yelled after her.

Sara stopped and turned around. "I'll be back before she is."

"What about Scott?"

"If you really broke his jaw, I'll be ok. If not, I'll do it myself this time. See you later."

It was a dismissal, although a friendly one. Dean took the hint and let her leave, toying with the idea of going and chatting to the nice librarian again. Or he could go and find Scott again. Looking at the newspaper article he'd hidden from Sara, Dean could almost feel his blood boil. It was a clipping from two years previously, when two girls, unnamed, had claimed Scott had attacked them. They had later dropped all charges, and if there was no connection between that and the fact that Scott's father was the head cop around here, Dean would eat the Impala.

But if he went after Scott again, Sara would most likely hate him. She wanted to fight her own battles, he'd give her credit for that. But if she knew as much about fighting as she did about hunting, Dean did not like her chances.

xxx

One of the facts that Sara had learnt early, and come to resent later, was that hunting was generally a family business. Trying to maintain a family with that sort of secret was next to impossible; the few Hunters that tried it invariably found themselves left high and dry by a spouse who had added all the little lies together and had enough, basically. The Winchesters were a good example of a Hunter family, both the Coopers knew what went bump in the night, Amelia Lucian had learnt from her father.

The family living at The Vicarage were no exception. Father Peter Atwood, apparently nothing more than a kindly priest, had been feeding information to Hunters across America for years after an accident forced him to retire. His sons, twenty two year old Adrian and twenty year old Will, were second generation Hunters, like Dean, and were equally determined to outdo their father – and each other.

Sara rapped on the door and listened with interest to the cacophony of sounds that answered her knock. Yelling, the traditional blast of heavy metal from the floor above and what sounded like someone falling down the stairs reached her ears before the door was yanked open.

"Why, if it isn't little Lucian," Will said, grinning at her.

"Who else would come to see a loser like you?" she replied, returning the grin and hugging him.

"Good trip back?"

"Apparently I still look like an unaccompanied minor, but otherwise," Sara said, shrugging.

Will laughed, stretching to remind her of his full height of six feet, two inches. Sara smacked his arm in reply and turned to watch the stairs as the music was cut and Adrian followed his brother in almost crashing down the last few steps.

"Graceful, isn't he?" Will commented, ducking a punch as he headed past the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Ignore the idiot," Adrian said, hugging Sara. "How's life, kid?"

"Mum getting a little suspicious of my extra-curricular activities, I think," she said.

"Damn. She doesn't suspect me, does she?"

"No, there's no way she could figure that out. Unless you're the one who told her something?"

"I wouldn't do that to you," Adrian replied seriously. "I'm not saying anything till your mother lets you work."

"Just checking. By the way, Pops said he might have a gig for you guys, if you're interested."

"Cool. I'm going stir-crazy here. Dad's out dealing with Mrs Troup, by the way, she's complaining about the youth of today and having a hissy fit," Adrian said, leading her through the house and out into the garden.

Will was there, setting out a row of tin cans along a low stone wall. "And I've a bone to pick with you, Sara."

Her mind scrabbling to remember whatever it was, she stared at him.

Will grinned. "I was picking up some ammo earlier, and I saw you having lunch with a guy. Name, age, prospects?"

"Oh, for God's sake, it's not like that," Sara protested and sighed. "Dean Winchester, nineteen, Hunter. He's John Winchester's son."

"What the hell is John's son doing here?" Adrian asked, sitting on the wall and knocking three tins over.

"Mr Winchester is helping Mum with something, so I'm stuck with Dean until they're finished," she explained, picking up the tins and putting them back on the wall. "He seems ok, though."

"Would Dean have anything to do with Scott Pople being taken to hospital with a broken jaw?" Will said, obviously already knowing the answer.

"Scott Pople? I thought that bastard left town already," Adrian said. "Sara? He still giving you trouble?"

"Same old, same old," she replied. "I'm fine."

"Told you we should've smoked him," Will said.

"There will be no killing of Scott Pople," Sara said firmly.

"How do you feel about bruising?" Will asked wistfully.

"Okay, fine," Adrian said. "But prove you can defend your own honour."

She looked at the Magnum he had put in her hands, then pointedly at Will, who quickly moved behind them, giving Sara a clear shot at the tins along the wall, as Adrian offered her a reassuring smile.

Taking a deep breath, Sara aimed.

xxx

Hoping that Bernie the ghost wouldn't take offence, Dean had taken over the kitchen table, spreading out most of the arsenal from the Impala across it. It was past time he checked over most of the weapons. When Sara entered to find him expertly breaking down, cleaning and reassembling more guns that anyone could ever need, she merely shrugged and started to cook supper.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Dean asked, curious. A lifetime of moving around had taught him to cook pasta, and that was about it. He could order burger and chips like no one's business, though.

"School. Cooking classes once a fortnight." Putting a few bits of chicken into the oven, Sara wiped her hands on a tea towel. "Not quite as useful as being able to do that, I'll admit," she added, jerking her head at the assortment of weapons.

"I never got high school, you know," Dean said. "But I did ace Winchester Survival."

"Would that be survival _as_ a Winchester, or just surviving _being _a Winchester?"

"Both," he answered with a grin.

"Oh, yeah, any word from the adults?"

"Nothing yet. Dad said he'd call if they weren't coming back for the night."

Dean had barely finished speaking before the phone rang. He grabbed for it quickly.

"Hello? No, uh, wait a sec," he said and put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Someone called Lucy?"

Sara plucked the phone out of his hands. "Lucy? Yeah, it's me. What's up? What? Oh, my god, I'm sorry. Yeah, of course. Yeah. Don't worry, I get it. It's ok. Well, get back to him, numbskull. Give him my love. Talk to you soon."

"Everything ok?" Dean asked as she put the phone back.

"Yeah. You know, same old, same old."

"You sure?"

"It's not your problem."

"Sure it is if I have to put up with you moping," Dean retorted, but made a point of grinning at her.

Sara shrugged. "Lucy's a friend from school. She was going to come over, spend some time with me, but her little brother's ill so she can't come. She'll come in a few weeks, it's fine."

"Uh huh. And if it's fine, how come you look like your dog just died?"

"It's nothing."

"Come on, tell me."

"It's my birthday next week. Lucy was coming to keep me company."

Dean frowned slightly. "Aren't you going to spend your birthday with your mom?"

"Yeah, if hell freezes over in the next eight days." She was smiling as she said it, but it was the sort of smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "She'll be working."

"I don't think this job's going to last..." Dean trailed off. "She'll find another job? Before your birthday?"

"A really good exorcist is hard to find and my mother's the best there is." Sara slapped a plate of chicken and vegetables in front of Dean. "The creed of the Lucians? Work first, family second. And don't you dare pretend your father's any different. Enjoy your meal."

"What about you?"

"Lost my appetite." She grabbed her jacket from a chair and headed through the back door, letting it slam shut behind her.

Never one to waste food, he ate the chicken before following her. God knew he'd want time to calm down before anyone got in his face, so Dean felt no qualms about taking his time with the food. Definitely better than his usual meals. When he was finished, he checked the answer machine was on, in case his dad called, found his jacket and headed out into the garden.

Sara wasn't anywhere in sight and Dean was stumped for a moment. Surely she wouldn't have clambered over the back wall? Turning slowly, he checked all around, his gaze finally falling on a large tree.

"Sara? You up there?" he called.

"You know," Sara said from a point somewhere above Dean's head. "When someone storms out of the house, it normally means they want to be alone."

"You can be alone inside," Dean countered. "We have no idea what's going on here, and no way in hell am I explaining to your mother that you got yourself filleted in your own garden!"

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not going to get myself killed," she snapped back.

"Prove it," he said. Hell, it worked on Sammy most of the time.

"And challenging my ego doesn't work either."

"Don't make me come and get you."

Her reaction, although unexpected, did make Dean feel better. He had no idea how to deal with an emotional teenage girl, but he doubted a typical emotional teenage girl would throw stones at his head. It seemed Sara was already feeling better. Kicking the offending rock away, Dean pulled a small torch out of his pocket and flicked it on. The beam of light showed Sara sitting on a branch a couple of feet above his head, with one arm twirled around another, slightly higher, branch to keep herself in place.

"Nice aim," he said.

"Thanks. You're not going to bugger off, are you?"

"Nope."

Sighing, Sara unwound her arm, dropping to the ground.

"Happy now?" she asked, walking back towards the house.

"Ecstatic. Hey, Sara?" he said as they re-entered the kitchen.

"What?"

"How old are you going to be?"

"Seventeen."

"Huh, you're growing up."

"Did that already." She found a TV guide and flicked through it. "So, we have Dracula, Star Wars, Godzilla versus Mothra or… Well, that's about it."

Dean stopped packing up the weapons to give her a look that was decidedly odd. "What?"

"Neither of us is going to relax until the parentals fall through the front door, so why pretend? Therefore, films. Preferably ones that you already know so you can tear them to shreds instead of what-if-ing all night. So which one?"

"Easy. Godzilla versus Mothra."

"Good choice. Now," she said, opening a cupboard. "Even you must know how to cook this."

Dean caught the microwave popcorn Sara had thrown and grinned.

xxx

Falling asleep on sofas was not generally a terrible idea, but sharing the sofa with a six foot tall Hunter did not result in a good night's sleep. So when Sara woke up, her head resting on Dean's shoulder and with one hell of a stiff neck, it took her a few minutes to figure out what was wrong.

Next to her, Dean opened his eyes and groaned, stretching. "Good morning."

But Sara was already off the sofa and out of the room. She ran full pelt up the stairs and almost fell into her mother's room.

The bed was empty.

Spinning, Sara could see past the open door of Mr Winchester's room to another empty bed. Heading back downstairs, Sara collided with Dean in the hall.

"Hey, what's-"

She didn't stop to explain but darted around him and made for the kitchen. The answer machine was next to the phone and the display showed a steadily blinking red number. The number zero.

The important thing right now was to _think, _not just panic. Okay, her mother had spent several days away before this, and only called if she wanted something. This was no different. But Mr Winchester… He had promised Dean he'd call, and if Mr Winchester said he was going to do something, he did it.

"Sara?" Dean said from behind her.

"He didn't call. He didn't call and they didn't come back."

There was a long pause before Dean spoke again. "Okay, so we go after them, make sure they're not injured or anything. Which would be easier if they told us where they were going, admittedly."

"What about that map from yesterday?" Sara asked, trying to fight down the sheer panic that threatened most of her higher brain functions. "The outline of the signs your dad was interested in?"

"Good starting point, but that outline had a fifty-mile radius. Lot of space to search, especially if there's no one there who can tell us anything."

"You don't need to search it all. Just head for the centre. Those signs must be… ripples. Whatever they were going after is the thing causing the ripples, I bet."

He nodded slowly. "So we have a destination. Now we just need to know what they were hunting."

Sara shrugged. "Well, it wasn't a standard possession or haunting. Mum wouldn't ask for help with something like that. And she asked your dad for help, so it's probably a mix of magic and monster."

"How so?"

"Well, if it was pure exorcist work, there are other people, people in town even, that she could ask for help if she needed it. And if it was a wendigo or something solid, she'd just send the info to a Hunter, not go along for the ride. Ergo, we have something that needs both an exorcist and a Hunter. And I don't know anything that would need both."

"What's the difference between an exorcist and a Hunter anyway? I mean, I've seen Hunters do exorcisms."

"Exorcists tend not to pick up a shotgun and empty both barrels at the problem. Mum deals with possessions, the really bad ones, poltergeists, ghosts, cleansings, vibes, magic, curses, that sort of thing. Some of the non-corporeal stuff takes a… a certain kind of resistance to deal with. Not all Hunters have it, but all exorcists have to."

"As I'm pretty fond of my shotgun, you'll have to be the exorcist for this one." Dean grabbed the bag of weapons from under the table. "Go get whatever you need. We should get going a-s-a-p."

"Dean," Sara said as he turned to leave.

"What?"

"I, um, I know some basic stuff, but I'm really not an exorcist. I want to help find them, I do, but I don't exactly know how to."

"Well, I need someone watching my back and it might as well be you. So go get your stuff."

Sara nodded slowly, slipping past him and hurrying up the stairs.

Dean watched her go, thoughtful. He hadn't counted on her being a novice, but she was smart enough. Knew the basics, as she admitted, and everything about her pointed to that being true. He'd watch out for her, teach her whatever she needed to know to stay alive. Dean was by nature a protector. With Sammy on the other side of the country, he had protection to spare and Sara was welcome to it. And no way in hell was he going to leave her waiting by the phone while he went to find their parents.

Besides, it wasn't like she'd stay anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

The area they were heading to wasn't too far away, but it would still be at least early evening before they got there. Dean stuck close to the speed-limit; every part of him wanted to floor the accelerator and find his dad, but this was not the time to get pulled over for speeding. On the bright side, his dad hadn't taken the Impala.

Sara had barely spoken since telling Dean she'd be useless. With a handful of her mother's books, she was leaping from one to another, checking and double checking whatever it was she was reading. After some time, she'd produced a biro and was jotting things down on the back of an envelope, occasionally murmuring to herself. She was so focused that she barely noticed when Dean stopped for gas and food.

As he went in search of food, Sara found the ladies. On her way back to the car, the host of brightly coloured leaflets on one wall caught her eye.

There were all missing posters. Every single one.

Sara ran back to the car, yanking the door open and grabbing the folder she'd put together with Dean only the day before. Turning to the wall again, Sara checked names, double checked, triple checked. Because this was not good. Really not good.

She had wanted so badly to be wrong about this.

"Hey, Sara? Sara?" Dean yelled.

Belatedly, she realised she was out of sight of the car. Snatching one of the missing posters, she hurried back to the Impala. Dean took one look at her face, steered her into her seat and they were off again in about a minute and a half. After a few minutes, he found a decent place to pull over and did so.

"Talk to me, Sara."

She twirled her long plait through her fingers, trying to say it all right. "This book," Sara said finally. "It's the diary of my great grandfather, Mark Lucian. Tells you everything about what he fought, how he fought it, you know. The last entries are about a cult that he faced."

"And you think it's these guys that your mom was after?"

"The book was in her room, the signs that we're following match the ones Mark Lucian spotted. There were disappearances then too. Forty of them. This girl-" She handed him the missing poster. "Is number forty, by my reckoning. She was declared MIA two days away, when she didn't turn up at work. That's means they probably took her about three or four days ago."

Dean was looking at the poster; the girl, Katie Smith, looked creepily like Sara, with the same shaped face and red hair. Hell, she was even about the same height, if the information below the picture was correct. "So what do these guys want?"

"I think they're trying to summon a demon, a real demon."

He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. "As opposed to all those fake demons I kill on a semi-regular basis?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Most demons are pretty animalistic, if they're corporeal. The ones that possess people usually have pretty simple aims as well, you know, bring down the plane, re-enact the crime, whatever. But there are some demons, I think, that are more like humans. They want bigger things."

"Like bringing forth hell? Toppling the angels?"

"Again, yeah, pretty much. That's the kind of demon my mum specialises in, but they are incredibly rare these days. She runs into maybe three a year, four tops."

"And if one was summoned, or allowed to manifest or whatever?"

Sara shrugged. "No one really knows. It's been done, once, we think."

"When?"

"Uh, heard of Atlantis?"

"You're kidding."

"It gets worse."

"How?"

"The summoning in incredibly complex. These guys, to even be attempting it, they have to be very good. Or very stupid, which is almost as bad. Anyway, point is, they need some... They have to sacrifice forty innocents to the devil-"

"So no hope of finding Katie Smith and the others alive, then. How did Mark stop them?"

"He didn't. Their calculations were off, they missed their chance. Very messy mistake, by all accounts. Most of the cultists died, but enough lived to keep it going, apparently."

"And they've had forty years to correct those calculations, so they'll get it right this time. You got any good news?"

"Well, they haven't killed your dad or my mum yet."

"How can you be so sure?"

"'Cause..." Sara swallowed, feeling sick to her stomach. "They need them. For the summoning. They need... the blood of a Hunter and the heart of an exorcist. Forty years ago, they killed Mark Lucian and then screwed up the ritual. He didn't stop them, they kinda stopped him."

"Oh, fucking hell," Dean swore, rubbing his face. "So, search and rescue. Any idea how long we have?"

"'Till tonight, I think, maybe a little longer. It takes about five days for a sacrifice to count, as it were. Roughly five days from Katie Smith's death until the demon rises."

Dean started the engine again.

"I don't know how to stop them, Dean," she said softly.

"Me neither. We'll figure something out. Promise."

And, although she'd only known Dean for three days, that made Sara feel better. Dean said 'promise' like he meant it.

xxx

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going the wrong way."

"What? Let me see that." Dean stopped the car and took the map from Sara. "Shit. How the hell did that happen?"

"Just tell me you can read a map."

"Of course I can read a map! Right." He turned the car around. "Let's try that again."

Forty five minutes later, Dean threw his hands up in defeat.

"Okay, I'm out of ideas. There is no way we could accidentally turn ourselves around that many times. How many times was it?"

"Lost count," Sara said, flicking through another book. "Okay, we keep hitting the border and then whatever happened happens, so it could be a misdirection spell. The cult can do magic, after all."

"Hang on, you said everyone cleared out last year, right? A compulsion could do that."

Sara nodded. "And that would explain how the police haven't traced any of the forty sacrifices here. Compulsions are easily blocked, right?"

"Yeah, but we have to know exactly which kind of compulsion we're dealing with."

"Well, we're on the border right now, aren't we?"

"Yeah. Other side of that fence is our fifty miles. Sara, what are you doing?" he asked as she clambered out of the car.

"The signs for a compulsion have a limited area of influence," she called. "So there has to be one around here somewhere. Are you going to help me or what?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean got out of the car and started to examine the fence along the roadside. Sara had clambered over it, checking the other side.

"Hey, Sara?"

"What?"

"You're taking this pretty well, you know. Your mom disappearing and all."

"Occupational hazards for people like our parents. It happens."

He paused. "How often?"

"Let's just say I call Nana Cooper to check on her these days. Easier on all of us. You find anything?"

Dean realised he was staring at her. "Uh, no. Not yet."

"Well, we should get a move on. I intensely don't want to be standing around here after dark still lacking a plan."

"Agreed." Dean pulled a bit of shrubbery aside and hit pay-dirt. "Bingo. One creepy-ass compulsion symbol."

"If we break it, would that break the compulsion?" Sara asked, looking at it.

"No, this type's too powerful. We'll need something else."

"Well, I've got some supplies. Might be able to knock something together." Sara had a pen in hands and was roughly sketching the symbol on a scrap of paper. "Don't suppose you'd have any ideas?"

"Dad said something about compulsions, but damned if I remember. Call the Coopers, maybe?"

"Yeah. Need a decent lie, though. The truth would get me locked in the basement 'till I hit thirty. Hey, I'm not exaggerating," she said as Dean chuckled.

"Oh, I believe you. Come on, we'll hit the road, find a pay phone or something."

"And what do I tell Nana?"

"I don't know. You're the smart one," he said as they climbed into the Impala.

"Why do I have to be the smart one?"

"Firstly, because you're too small to be the muscle, and secondly, because if I was the smart one, we'd be in serious trouble."

xxx

It was almost dark before they stopped again. When the compulsions had been set up last year, most people, even the ones tens of miles away, had had the good sense to leave, even if they had no idea why they were leaving. Good for them, not so good for Dean and Sara. The best they could find, hell, all they could find, was the sort of bar that served nothing but beer and shots to people who wore more leather and had more scars than was healthy.

But there was a pay phone in the parking lot, so Sara armed herself with a handful of loose change and called Pops Cooper, with Dean leaning against the door from the outside to make sure no one tried to hassle her.

"Hey, Pops," Sara said. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about not showing up today, but Mum wanted me and Dean at the library again. By the time we found what she wanted, my eyes wouldn't focus. Well, yeah, there is something. Adrian and Will went on that hunt for you, but they called me asking about compulsions, specifically ways to… to block them, or repel them or something? Uh-huh. Um, it's kinda a… like a spiral, with a tail like a gamma and three groups of six dots."

Dean exchanged glares with a biker that got a little too close as Sara scribbled down the instructions from Pops.

"Thanks, Pops," she said finally. "Talk to you soon. Love to Nana."

He moved away from the door when she slapped her hand against it. "You get it?"

"One anti-compulsion spell," she replied, holding up the paper. "Fairly standard ingredients, I've got them all, I think."

"Good. Stay in the car and get started. I'll go see if I can get us anything to eat." He threw her the keys to the Impala and headed inside. Keeping Sara out of the bar would probably be a really good thing.

Sara unlocked the car and fished her bag out from under the seat. Okay, so she needed rock salt, angelica root, a handful of other herbs, a touch of chrism oil and… She tutted to herself. Cross road dirt, damn it, the one blasted thing she hadn't been able to find before leaving. Sighing, she searched through the bag again, but there was definitely no cross road dirt.

But she was sitting in car parked outside a bar that was actually _on_ a cross road.

Calling herself five different types of idiot, she laid out two squares of cloth, dabbed some chrism oil in the centre and added the rock salt and herbs. With that done, Sara darted out of the car and scooped up some dirt from the side of the cross road. She turned back and-

Smacked right into the last person she would've expected to see there.

"Sara," Scott Pople said, grinning in an entirely unfriendly way. His jaw was still pretty colourful, his words slightly slurred, and there was alcohol on his breath. This wasn't going to end at all well.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I do kinda owe your new friend a beating or two."

"Oh, please attack Dean. I could do with a laugh."

"Then again, I could just kick the shit out of you. But it would be a shame to spoil that pretty face."

She slapped his hand aside. "Touch me and I'll break something else."

"Come on, Sara. It's not like you're getting any better offers."

"You're disgusting. And you'd better back the hell off right now."

"And why would I want to do that?" He reached for her again.

"I really don't have time for this." Sara grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind his back, making sure it hurt a hell of a lot. Sara might be small, but she could easily deal with a drunken Scott. "One, because believe me when I say I would love to break your arm, and, two, because I know at least eight people who are willing to testify against you. With your daddy retiring next month, you must just wanna start looking at your image, Scotty boy." Scott groaned as she twisted his arm even harder. "And if you don't behave yourself, I'll beat five kinds of crap out of you and then make sure everyone knows that you got your ass kicked by a five foot girl."

"Okay, okay!" Scott gabbled.

Sara let go of his arm and shoved him away. "One other thing, Scott." She hit him, right in the nose, as hard as she possibly could. "That's for slapping me. You ever come near me again, we'll have a serious problem."

She'd dropped her precious cross-road dirt to deal with Scott, so Sara grabbed another handful and headed back to the Impala. She could hear Scott moaning on the ground behind her, and he wouldn't attack again. Not if he had any sense at all.

Sara quickly finished the anti-compulsion charms, adding the cross-road dirt and bundling it all up in the cloth.

"Sara, what is this son of a bitch doing here?"

She stuck her head out of the car to see Dean standing over the still-whimpering Scott, and tried to look surprised. "Beats me."

Dean shrugged, stepped around Scott, giving the boy a free kick as he passed. "Beat him, more like," he muttered, sliding back into the driver's seat.

Sara passed him one of the bundles. "Keep this in your pocket or something and it'll stop the compulsion."

"So now we head for the centre of the ripples."

"I looked at the map again. There's an old church on the hotspot. Right here." She passed him the map. "St Michael and All the Angels, abandoned last year when the cult moved in."

"Wait, you're saying a cult of demon worshippers is trying to summon a demon in a church dedicated to the patron saint of demon Hunters?"

"Well, throughout history, it's the corruption of something pure that scares people. Fallen angels, inverted pentagrams, all of it. So what if these guys are twisting good things to do something bad?"

"You mean like using a Hunter and an exorcist to bring this thing forth? Using the forty innocents?" Dean paused for a moment. "Sara, inversion magic is pretty unstable, right?"

"Yeah, so is countering it. Which explains why Mum wouldn't let you help. The spells she must be working to stop this thing... There's no way we can replicate them in time, let alone actually perform them."

He grinned, started the engine, and floored the accelerator. "Don't have to."

"We've got a plan?"

"We've got a plan," he affirmed.

xxx

An hour later, Dean stopped the car. "Okay, Sara, the church is on the other side of this delightfully creepy orchard. I'm not gonna make you stay here and wait for me, or anything like that, but if you come with me on this, you do exactly what I say, when I say it. Clear?"

She nodded, fiddling with her plait again. Dean recognised the displacement activity; he could judge how crappy his little brother's day had been by the untidiness of his hair. So he reached out and grabbed her hand.

"I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. And, just to make this very clear, these evil sons of bitches are going to pay. Clear?"

Sara nodded again, this time with a smile. "So what's the plan?"

"Well," Dean said. "First you have to see this."

Curious, Sara followed him out of the car and round to the trunk. Dean popped it open, flicked on a torch that he'd stuck to the underside of the lid and yanked up the lining.

"How on earth haven't you been arrested already?" Sara said, staring at the arsenal. She'd seen Dean's gun collection spread out over her kitchen table, but there were machetes, flare guns, knives, amulets...

He gave her another grin, mainly because it made her relax a little. "Right. The summoning spell, or whatever they're trying to do, is really sensitive. You mom was probably trying to counter it with another spell."

"Which is equally sensitive. So what can we do?"

Dean picked up a shotgun, snapping it open and loading it with ease. "Well, Amelia did say I would disrupt things. Let's go prove her right."

"That's your plan? Disrupt the spell?"

"Yep. We stop them raising the demon however we can, and as finesse is not my strong point..." He tucked a handgun into his belt, stuffed spare ammo in his pockets. "We do this the Winchester way."

Sara positioned her shoulder-bag with the strap going diagonally across her chest. "Oh, I love Wykehamists."

"Can you shoot straight?"

"Captain of my school's shooting team."

"A girls-only boarding school has a shooting team?"

"Since last year." And there was a tiny smile on Sara's face, the same sort of smile Sam wore when admitting to getting another A.

"Nice going, kid. Well, this-" He held out the revolver. "This is a Colt Python revolver and it is my very favourite gun. Don't lose it."

Sara took him from him, not missing the fact that he watched her carefully as she checked the gun over. It wasn't loaded. "It takes .357 magnum rounds, right?"

Dean nodded, satisfied, and tossed her some ammo. "You'll do. Now, stay close to me, ok? We'll go after Dad and Amelia first, then deal with the cult."

"Strength in numbers, huh?" Sara, watching Dean for any sign of disapproval, found a holster for the Colt Python.

"Well, cults are notoriously stupid and cocky, so I doubt there's a perimeter guard. We sneak in, spring the older generation, and then set something on fire." He threw her a torch and slammed the trunk shut.

She followed him into the orchard, keeping her voice low. "Um, why set something on fire?"

"Well, burning down the church could be seen as disruptive."

Sara shrugged; she wasn't sure there was really an argument to that, at least, not one that would have the slightest effect on Dean.

They made their way through the orchard, Dean leading the way with a torch in one hand and the shotgun in the other and Sara following a pace or two behind. His comment about stupid cults seemed to be justified; they had no trouble, but both were getting progressively jumpy as time went on.

"What is that smell?" Dean asked softly, trying not to gag. They were getting closer to the church, he couldn't stop and throw up, not now.

Sara flicked on the torch, checking around them. "It smells like..."

"Sara?" Dean turned around.

She was looking up into the trees, mouth moving silently. Dean followed her gaze. The torchlight showed the rotting flesh and grinning skull of a corpse, mutilated, tied into the tree like some twisted decoration. Dean realised there were more bodies, in other trees. Two teenagers surrounded by the dead.

Dean swallowed back the bile he could taste in his throat. He'd seen some downright unnatural things in his life, and God knew he'd seen dead bodies before, but this was a new level of sick. Behind him, he could hear Sara half-choking on tears she was trying so hard not to let fall. Dean was now really, really angry. These sick bastards had taken his dad, tried to end the world, but this was worse. They'd taken the last shreds of Sara's innocence. And she wouldn't even let herself cry about it.

Until that moment, he hadn't really understood what he was doing to Sara. Her own mother tried to keep Sara as much out of the supernatural as possible, and he'd just dragged her into her very first waking-nightmare, as Dean dubbed the moments that burnt into your memory and woke you up at night, sweating and just about managing not to cry. Dean had no innocence of his own left, wouldn't have any use for it even if he did, but he fought damn hard to let others have it. Like Sammy, although that wasn't just an uphill struggle, that was a sheer rock face.

"Sara?" he said, resting one hand on her shoulder to give her something solid to focus on, if she needed it.

She managed to look at him, eyes bright with tears, but there was anger in them as well. No, there was fury. The same spark of fire that was in Dean's own eyes, the need to find whatever did this and make it pay. The need to fight for those that couldn't. Sara wasn't Sammy. She was more like Dean than he would care to think about.

"We're going to stop these bastards, right?" Sara asked. For all her fire, she was still a kid. And she needed an adult, a leader, someone to tell her it would be ok.

"Yeah, we are." Dean jerked his head towards the church. "Right now." After a moment's thought, he pocketed his torch and took Sara's hand. No one had held his hand on his first hunt, but then his first hunt hadn't involved a creepy-ass orchard of death.

Getting away from the trees was a good move, but getting closer to the church was harder than Dean had counted on. Whatever the cult were doing, it seemed they hadn't started yet and there was a few people, complete with ridiculous robes, milling around outside. Dean and Sara skirted around the outskirts and made it to the back of the church, where there was no guard, but no back door either. Dean was momentarily stumped, but Sara tapped his shoulder and pointed out, silently, the tree they were crouched under and the window up above them.

After checking there was nothing up the tree but leaves, Dean boosted Sara up so she could grab the first branch. She hauled herself up, locked her arm around another branch, and leant back down to grab Dean's hand and help him up.

The tree had grown so close to the back wall of the church that the branches had almost gone through the window already. Sara edged along one branch towards the window, clinging to a thick branch above her head just in case, and reached out to wipe dust and cobwebs off the thin glass. At least it wasn't a stained-glass window.

"What can you see?" Dean whispered. He didn't dare risk his weight on the same branch as Sara, and so stayed close to the trunk of the tree.

"Definitely an inversion ritual," she called back, just as quietly. "They've set up a black altar with all the trimmings, inverted pentagram on the floor. The whole nine yards."

"Can you see your mother? Or my dad?"

"No, there's no one in there. I guess they're not starting for a while."

"We need to find a way in," Dean said.

"I can't see one." She leant further forward, resting one hand on the glass to balance herself. The branch she was standing on gave a worrying creak. Sara moved backwards slightly, the branch creaked again. "Shit!"

Dean stayed as close to the trunk as possible and stretched out his hand. "Grab my hand." A fall from this height wouldn't kill Sara, but it could break something.

Sara reached out, risking another tiny step forward, and managed to take hold of the offered hand. Dean pulled her in, steadying her until she was back on steadier ground. Or steadier tree, really. Which was when their luck ran out. Sara stepped to another branch, and the one she vacated sprung up slightly-

And somehow shattered the window.

The two shared a look of pure panic before Dean reacted, gesturing for Sara to get the hell on the ground _now. _Sara let go of the tree and dropped, rolling as she hit the ground. She scrambled to her feet as Dean landed next to her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along, both of them sprinting for the creepy-ass orchard of death. It was dark, it was deserted, there were places to hide there.

There were shouts behind them, sounds of pursuit, a shot or two and they ran faster. Dean thought furiously as he ran. If they were both captured, they were all screwed, parents included. Sara was smaller, easier to hide. Right, find somewhere to hide her.

Dean skidded to a halt. They had about a minute before the cult caught them. "Sara, get up the tree," he ordered, shoving her towards one and praying there wasn't already a body up there.

For a second, Sara hesitated, but sounds behind them made her pull herself up into the tree. As she had done only minutes before, she reached her hand back down for Dean. He grabbed it, maybe they could both hide, but before he could climb up, he could hear the cult getting closer. There just wasn't enough time. Dean tried to yank his head free, but Sara wasn't letting go. He caught her eye for a split second. He recognised that look all right, the desperate _please don't make me do this on my own_ that he'd seen in the mirror once or twice, a wordless plea that always went unanswered. There wasn't any time to reason with her, so he reacted instead. His flip-knife was in his hand in an instant and he slashed her hand with it.

Sara let go immediately, instinctively pulling her hand back, cradling it to her chest.

Dean started running again, heading away from Sara, away from the cult. The shotgun was still in his hand and he turned back to fire it, hearing someone hit the ground, groaning in pain. He fired several more times, some shots connecting, some not, until the shotgun was empty. His remaining pursuers were too close for him to reload, so Dean changed his grip on the weapon and used it as a club instead. The first cultist to reach him got the end of Mr Shotgun to the face, then the gut, before he went down. Dean swung again and again, lashing out with feet and fists as well, anything to win this fight.

One against dozens, no matter how well-trained that one is, can never win, however. Finally, he was overpowered, his weapon snatched from his grasp and his arms twisted up behind his back and tied there.

A cultist, one who had the air of a leader about him, stepped forward. "Where's your little friend?"

"I don't have any friends," Dean replied.

The man smirked and gestured to his followers. The other cultists raised rifles, shooting into every tree.

Dean held his breath. _Please, oh, please don't-_

There was a loud thud. Dean twisted to see, as did the cultists, shining torches in the same direction.

A body lay crumbled at the foot of a tree. The small body of a red-headed woman. Or kid, really.

"What do you know, boy?" the man said. "Now you're right."


	4. Chapter 4

Sara clung to the tree, trying so hard not to breathe, not to move, not to think. She'd watched the cult drag Dean away, taking 'her' body as well. Leaning back against the tree trunk, Sara thanked God for two things. One was the sharp knife Adrian Atwood had given her last year. The other was that Dean had shoved her into a tree with the body of Katie Smith, who'd been killed by a bullet wound to the shoulder. Judging from the stains on the tree, she'd been left to bleed to death in this tree. But when the cultists had aimed at the tree, sheer desperation had made Sara think of cutting Katie down, to make the cult think they'd killed Sara.

Which gave her the advantage, she supposed. If the cult thought she was dead, that the threat was over, they wouldn't look for her. But making herself stay in the bloody tree until they were all gone, until she could be reasonably sure that they had relaxed again, was terrifying.

When Sara couldn't stand it any longer, she climbed carefully out of the tree and made for the church again, following the direction she'd seen the cult take Dean. Sara couldn't cope with all this on her own, she needed the older Hunter right now and she was going to find him.

The cult seemed to be having some sort of pre-ritual party, with a huge bonfire. From the number of men surrounding it, Sara guessed everyone was there. Trying to do a rough head-count, she was amazed and relieved to see her mother and Mr Winchester at the edge of the crowd. They were tied up, unconscious, and under pretty heavy guard, but they were alive and that was all that mattered. And as they weren't in any real danger until the ritual started, Sara kept moving, staying low to avoid detection, until she reached the doors of the church.

She slipped in, the Colt Python Dean had given her in her hand, and was incredibly thankful to find it was empty. She wasn't sure if she could shoot someone or not. So Sara put the gun back into its holster and stepped further into the church. No Dean.

The pentagram was in the centre of the church, right under the painting of St Michael and the other angels on the ceiling, fighting demons. Sara looked at the pentagram, thinking. It was definitely an evil pentagram, as it was pointing West, the horizontal 'down' in magic. The symbols painted around it weren't familiar to Sara, but working on the theory of everything being upside down, she twisted her head around a bit and thought the signs came from ones for binding, summoning, everything you would expect.

Sara was well aware of the fact that the moment her luck ran out, she'd be completely screwed. She didn't have much but luck to rely on at this moment, and a lot could happen between now and when she found Dean. She needed a back-up plan. Or any plan, at this point.

She dug around in her bag for inspiration, wincing at the various things in there smacked against her hand. She'd forgotten about the cut she now sported, thanks to a desperate Dean. It was pretty impressive, she had to admit, going from the base of the fingernail of her middle finger and reaching across the back of her right hand to her wrist. It stung like hell, but at least the blood had clotted when she was still hiding. With her good hand, Sara searched through the bag again.

What would chrism oil do to an inverted pentagram?

There was one way to find out. Quickly, glancing at the door every other second, Sara used the last of the chrism oil to sketch another pentagram, pointing East this time, on top of the inverted one. As an afterthought, she found the signs for binding and scratched at the paint to ruin them just a little bit. Pops had once told her that if a summoned demon wasn't bound properly, it would bit the head of its summoner in revenge, which sent it back to wherever it had come from. Demons _really _didn't like being summoned and then forced to submit to the will of humans.

With her sabotage complete, Sara turned to go and search for Dean when a glint caught her eye. Sara was a complete magpie, as she put it, and anything shiny always caught her attention. Around the pentagram was a ring of protective charms and amulets, herbs, and so on. All of the objects were by definition 'good', so she could only assume that the cult planned to twist their power to help with the summoning. But it was the one that was on the Eastern point of the pentagram that she was interested in. It was a brass amulet, shaped like a man's head, but with horns, on a long black cord. Sara held in it her hand for a moment, then dropped it into her jacket pocket. It looked, it _felt_, old and powerful. Probably best to remove it from the mix, then.

Right. Time to find Dean. That back room looked promising.

xxx

Dean had been through a lot in his time as a Hunter. Stabbed, shot at, burnt, bruised...

But he hadn't been chained up in a cupboard before. Nor had he ever let anyone die on his watch.

He had promised Sara he'd look out for her. He'd _promised_.

Part of him was silent, shaking, unable to function. The cult had shown the body to Amelia, he'd heard the scream of anguish from her, of rage from his father. Sara was sixteen. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed. The shocked bit of him wondered if that applied to her. What would Amelia do? And the Coopers, what about them? Sara's friends, those other Hunters she'd mentioned, Adrian and someone else...

He'd let them all down. But mostly he'd let Sara down.

And these bastards were going to pay.

There was only one cultist on the other side of the metal door and Dean could easily cope with one man with this rage burning inside him.

He should be glad that it was quick for Sara, but he wasn't. She shouldn't have died. He shouldn't have left her behind to get shot.

But he had.

Dean wanted to scream. He wanted to shout and scream but he didn't. Instead, he focused on ripping his chains out of the wall. Then he could kick down that damn door and make these bastards pay.

He didn't have any weapons. He didn't care.

There was a loud clunk, and Dean felt some satisfaction; that had been easier that he'd thought it would be. But the chains were still firmly attached to the wall. What the hell had that been?

"Dean?"

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. What the hell was going on here? "Sara?" he said softly, fairly certain that grief was driving him crazy. Or crazier, maybe.

But when the door was pulled open to show Sara standing right there, right in front of him, with her red hair and tired green eyes and a bloody right hand that gave Dean another pang of guilt, he couldn't argue about it.

"Are you ok?" she asked, coming forward.

Dean grabbed her arm, and she was reassuringly solid under his fingers. "Am _I_ ok? You're meant to be dead! They _shot you_!"

"Actually, they shot Katie Smith."

He paused, mind working it out. "Oh. Good plan."

"Didn't really plan it," she admitted.

Behind her, Dean could see the body of a cultist on the floor. "What did you do to him?"

"Hit him with a fire extinguisher. Don't suppose you know where the key for the chains is, do you?"

"Don't need one," he told her, and it was true. With the door open, he had enough light to pick the locks on his chains open. "Just need a hair pin."

"What are you looking at me for?"

"Your hair is that long and you don't have a hair pin?"

"I don't use them!" Sara protested. After a moment, she brightened. "Got a paperclip, though."

"You have a paperclip but not a hair pin?"

"Do you want it or not?"

Dean held out his hand for it and had to spend a few moments twisting it into the right shape before he could get to work. As soon as the paperclip was in his hands, Sara had backed out of the cupboard and when Dean followed a minute or two later, she was reloading the shotgun.

"You ok?" he asked.

She handed over the gun. "Fine. Why?"

Dean grinned, shrugged. Somehow it didn't seem right to say, _you nearly got killed so how about you wait here until it's all over?_

"Oh, let's just go, ok? I think they're starting soon."

"Well, we can't risk burning the church down, not with our parents in here, and we don't have time to get them out..." He trailed off, looking incredibly sheepish.

"What is it?"

Dean sighed. "They told your mom you were dead."

"Oh, she's gonna kill me." Sara shook her head, trying to stay focused. "Um, I sabotaged their little set up, but I don't know how effective it'll be, so-"

The lights flickered, the room shook.

"They've started."

Dean immediately took charge again. "I'll cover you, get to Dad and Amelia, cut them free."

Sara nodded and moved for the door.

"Um, about earlier," Dean started.

She turned back and smiled at him, a real smile of trust and friendship. "I didn't die, Dean. I didn't die and I am not dying, not now, not later. I promise."

"I'm holding you to that," he said, smiling back.

Sara pulled out the Colt Python, priming it. He had the shotgun ready. At Dean's nod, they ran out. Three cultists were down thanks to Dean before the others even registered the teenagers' presence.

The lead cultist, the same smug bastard who had given the order to fire at Sara, got a shotgun blast to the face. Sara vaulted over a pew and sprinted for the pentagram, where her mother was tied down, ready to be sacrificed. The cultist holding a knife got a bullet through his chest before Sara had even thought it and then Sara was next to her mother, cutting her free, trying not to see the expression on her face because it was going to break her heart. Dean kept firing, ducking down behind pews to reload, as Sara moved from Amelia to John and cut his bonds as well.

John snatched the sacrificial knife up and threw it at a man who was trying to sneak up on Dean. The teenager responded by throwing a handgun to his father. As the two Winchesters made short work of the last cultists, Amelia took Sara's face in her hands.

"You stupid, stupid girl. How dare you?"

"Mum, I-"

"You do not come after me on a job."

Sara pushed her mother's hands away. "I thought you were in trouble. What was I supposed to do?"

"You could've been killed!" Amelia said, voice harsh.

"So could you."

The fight with the cult was over, both the Winchesters were watching the fight of the Lucians. John was looking at Sara sadly, but Dean was entirely confused. When he moved to speak, John shook his head quickly. Still confused, but trusting his father, Dean stayed quiet.

"I know what I'm doing. You don't."

"And whose fault is that? I've asked you time and time again to teach me, to let me help-"

"I don't want this life for you, Sara."

"Really?" Sara was shaking. "I thought it was just that you didn't want me in your life at all. I mean, you only had a child to make your own mother shut up about it. You left me in England, without _anyone _to help me, watch out for me! You don't call, you don't write. And you don't know the first thing about my life."

"That's not true."

Sara shrugged. "What school house am I in? What A-levels am I doing?" Her voice dropped. "I am sick of you shutting me out and then claiming it's for my own good. When was the last time you knew anything about looking after me?"

"John," Amelia said, turning suddenly. "Destroy the altar and pentagram, will you?"

John nodded, leading Dean away with him. As they overturned the altar and stamped on the objects it had held, Amelia looked at her daughter again.

"Do you have a journal?" she asked mildly.

Sara pulled her leather-bound notebook from her bag and wordlessly handed it over. As Amelia took it, she grabbed her daughter's hand and sniffed it.

"Chrism oil?"

"I tampered with the pentagram," Sara said. "In case me and Dean-"

"Dean and I."

"Dean and I couldn't stop the cult before they started the ritual."

Amelia nodded slowly. "We'll discuss this at home."

"Mum, I'm didn't mean-"

"I said we'll discuss this later."

"Amelia," John called.

She went to speak with him, leaving Sara standing there. Dean watched Sara from across the church, an odd expression on his face.

"Dean, I'll take Amelia home," John said after a few moments. "Burn the church, and that orchard, then follow me. The compulsions are still up, so you don't need to worry too much about the cops. I'll see you back at Amelia's as soon as possible, understood?"

"Sara, stay with Dean," Amelia added.

Sara nodded, looking at the floor. She didn't look up again until she heard the adults leave and the door slam shut behind them.

"Come on," Dean said. "We need to find something to get the fire started."

xxx

Half an hour later, Sara and Dean sat side by side on the hood of the Impala and watched the orchard burn.

"I'm sorry," Dean said.

"What for?" It was the first time she'd spoken since Amelia had yelled at her.

"For what you saw in there." It was the simplest answer.

"I'm ok, Dean. Yeah, so I saw the creepy-ass orchard of death, but I got to see it burn as well. That's better than most nightmares."

"Yeah, I guess." He looked at her. "Sara?"

She was still watching the orchard. "Yeah?"

"What's a Wykehamist?"

"Heard of Winchester College? It's one of the best schools in England, full of very intelligent and very odd people. Anyone who goes there is a Wykehamist. Do all hunts end like this?"

"Sitting on a car watching a load of trees burn down? No, not so many. So this was your first hunt, huh?"

"First and last, by the look of it."

"Sara, your mom just wants you to be safe."

She shook her head. "This life... It's in me. In my blood and my mind and my memories. I can't be normal. Can't forget. I mean, if your dad had said to you, age eleven, _oh, wait, you can't fight the monsters anymore, but they still exist, don't you worry,_ what would you have done?"

Dean stared. "That's what happened to you?"

"More or less."

"Why?"

"The Lucians... They've been exorcists since, like, the thirteenth century AD. My grandfather was one. He died when Mum was about fourteen. She'd never had _normal_, you know. And her mum kept pushing her to have a child, to continue the bloodline. So she had me. But my grandmother died when I was ten. It was Grandma who made Mum train me, and she wasn't around anymore, so Mum stopped. Left me at school, went far, far away. And things kinda went downhill from there."

"How'd you get back into it, then?"

"Gran had chosen a boarding school for me. Mum just sent me there without a second thought, you know, but my gran always tested me. The boarding house was haunted. As I couldn't really take the weekend off to dig up a corpse, I called this Hunter called Adrian Atwood. He helped me out, I've been returning the favour ever since. Just research, tracking down books, stuff like that. Behind Mum's back, of course. Not sure that's an option any more."

"What will you do now?"

"I don't know."

"I'm sorry it all had to come out like this."

"Stop apologising, Dean. I mean it. I nearly didn't come home this summer, you know, but I'm glad I did. If this was my only hunt, I'm still glad I came. And I'm more than glad to have met you."

"Thanks," he said, surprised. "And now, we will celebrate your first-stroke-last hunt properly, the way I celebrated my first real hunt."

"And how would that be?"

From one pocket, Dean pulled a giant bag of M&Ms, from the other, a hipflask.

So the two teenagers sat on the Impala, AC/DC playing from the car stereo, eating M&Ms and drinking whisky, watching a creepy-ass orchard of death burn down in front of them. A little bit of humanity, however warped, surrounded by the ashes.

xxx

True to her threat, Amelia Lucian wanted to speak to Sara the moment the teenager walked through the door. Dean did have to fight with the urge to burst into the study and tell Amelia how damn proud she should be of Sara. Actually, he probably needed to tell Sara the same thing. Well, either way, Dean had to give his dad a blow-by-blow account of what he and Sara had done to track the pair down. But Dean kept half an ear open, listening for the sound of Amelia yelling at Sara. He didn't hear anything, though, and he dared to hope for Sara.

Finally, satisfied that he knew everything, John nodded. "You did well."

Dean smiled at the praise, but it soon faded. "Was it right to take Sara with me?"

The reply was short and without the faintest trace of doubt. "Yes."

"They nearly killed her, Dad."

"They nearly slit my throat as well, you know." John sighed. "Dean, you can't protect people by making them ignore what's real. I've told Amelia over and over that making Sara live a 'normal' life wasn't the way to keep the girl alive. Sara is old enough to know what she wants to do with her life, and it was only a matter of time before she took matters into her own hands and tried to fight on her own. And that really would have killed her. For a first hunt, you know, she did pretty well. The chrism oil on the pentagram, now that was impressive."

"Thanks," Sara said from the door. "It's such a shame we didn't get to see how that one played out." Her tone was teasing, there was a smile on her face and in her eyes and Dean felt better. "Uh, Mum wants to yell at you for letting your son corrupt me," she added.

John nodded and left, slapping Dean on the back as he passed.

"So?" Dean asked when Sara didn't immediately start talking.

"She'll train me. She'll let me help her," she said, sounding surprised, like she couldn't believe it herself. "I've got a lot to learn, she'd said, but she'll teach it all to me."

"Well, building up that special resistance you mentioned, it's gonna be hard work, right?"

"I'm not afraid of hard work, Dean."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

Sara slumped into a chair, sighed heavily. "My mum's thirty-six, Dean. For a Lucian, that's like reaching a hundred. And she managed that by not... not getting close to anyone. Not even me, you know? To be a good exorcist, you need balance. To get that balance, she cut everyone out." She looked at Dean. "I don't want to die, Dean. I _won't_ die. And I really don't to be alone all the time."

"So don't be," Dean said, with a shrug. "Use people to steady you. Be the exception to the rule."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"We, uh, we did ok, right?"

"No," he said and smiled at her again. "We did amazingly."

xxx

"Dean, get a move on!" John yelled, dropping the last bag into the Impala. "Caleb's probably killed Sammy already and fed his body to the dog!"

"Scary thing is, he's probably right," Dean said.

Sara, sitting next to him on the steps outside her home, chuckled. "Well, try to keep your brother alive. You Winchesters seem fairly useful."

"That we are," he agreed.

"Um, I found this in that church," she said, pulling the little brass amulet out of her pocket and handing it over "Mum took a look at it. She'd said it's some sort of old protective charm or something."

Dean let the amulet hang from its cord, looking at it. A little brass head with horns. It was pretty cool, he had to admit.

"Just thought it might help," she finished.

He slipped it over his head, letting it rest outside his shirt. "How does it look?"

Sara grinned, nodding to show approval. In the car, John hit the horn a few times, making Dean roll his eyes.

"You'll be ok?" he asked, one hand on Sara's shoulder.

"Sara Lucian, get rid of the pyromaniac already!" Amelia yelled from inside the house.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Sara said. "Thanks, Dean."

"Anytime, Sara." Giving her shoulder a squeeze, Dean stood and jumped down the steps, opening the Impala's door and climbing in. "Hey, Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm still holding you to that promise."

She grinned, nodding. "Be careful."

"I will, I promise," he said back.

John nodded a farewell to Sara and started the car, driving away. Dean twisted in his seat to watch Sara, and was glad to see Amelia standing next to her daughter. Ignoring the look his father gave him, Dean reached forward and flicked on the radio.

Sara would be ok.

xxx

Six days later, Sara turned seventeen. Despite Sara's words to Dean, Amelia hadn't immediately found another hunt and they had arranged to go out for dinner with the Atwoods and the Coopers to celebrate. It would be a good birthday, without lies and arguments and loneliness.

There was more post than normal, as might be expected for Sara's birthday. A few letters and cards from school friends, and a small parcel. Curious, Sara pulled it open to reveal a small white piece of card and a necklace, a thick, flat spiral of silver on a black cord. The card said, in slightly scruffy writing:

_Happy__Birthday, Sara. _

_- Dean _

Amelia had been watching, and when she saw the note, she sighed.

"Sara," she started. "Men like John and Dean, they're good people. Good Hunters. But they move around a lot and they're not always there when you need them. It doesn't do to rely too much on them, or to trust them too much. The day might come when you find yourself on a different side to them. When maybe they see _you_ as a threat, rather than the things we fight. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Sara looked up at her mother. The words she'd heard before, when Amelia had finally agreed after all these years to let Sara do what she wanted, rang in her ears:

"_It's hard, and difficult, and lonely, Sara. You'll live alone, and die alone. And the latter will happen sooner than you want it to."_

Sara was a Lucian through and through. And that meant that, to some extent, she would always be alone.

"_Use people to steady you. Be the exception to the rule."_

Sara smiled, rubbing the half-healed cut on the back of her hand. Dean Winchester had marked her in more than one way. "So I'll trust him just enough."

"How much is just enough?"

She tied the pendant around her neck. "Completely."

xxx

Final thoughts, comments, etc will be hugely appreciated!


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